‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. " A detective. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. . It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure.
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